Everyone lives like a coffin
People only care about what the person used to be
They love the memory, but not the mistery
Of seeing a beloved one rotting inside
Cheeks pale, eyes closed,
How could anyone think that they were once alive?
A shell of their former self,
Presented neatly for all to see
It's shameful to think about
How, in their last moments,
They are paraded as a tool,
And not treated carefully, like the human they once were.